# 6

# wild.

I love this word.

To be wild is to be free. To not be held captive to other’s ideas, expectations, rules. Like all words, ‘wild’ holds a vibration. An energy. A current. To some, the word wild might suggest a different interpretation that feels uncomfortable, out of control. A wild fire. ‘The kids are acting wild’ - unable to be contained. ‘The crowd went wild.’

I became curious about the word ‘wild’ the summer after I had my first official teaching year at Cary-Grove high school in Cary, Illinois. I had the wonderful opportunity to grow up in Cary, and attend Cary-Grove high school. When I was hired to teach at the high school, there were still a number of teachers who had taught me as a student. One of the teachers, Francey Zender, was wild. Francey lived by herself in an apartment just outside of Cary. Francey taught Humanities 1 & 2 at CGHS. Francey’s wisdom and expansive thinking was lost on me as a high school student, and I can’t say I was completely absorbed as a twenty-something-first-year-teacher to what Francey had to offer. Francey loved me. My guess is that she picked up on my energy - my potential. I like to think I do the same with students that show up in my experience - you feel their truth. Words and actions become largely irrelevant…you pick up on a feeling, a spirit. Teacher becoming the space holder of love and possibility.

So when Francey, whom had received a reputation amongst students in my generation to be one of the ‘it’ teachers (I hadn’t picked up on the why - I think she was the Dead Poet Society version to CGHS in the 80’s for sure…again, lost on me), when she shared with me a flyer on a 6-credit hour English course offering out of Northern Illinois University, that was to be held in the Tarryall mountain range located in Colorado, I was certain that this would grow me and my enlightenment. Let’s just say that at the time I wasn’t too sure what enlightenment even meant.

Francey never shared her age. I tried to peek at her driver’s license when we rented our fly fishing equipment. I think I figured it to be 77. Badass.

The course included six reads to be completed prior to the 3-week experience taking place in the mountains. The books would be discussed at campfire throughout the trip.

As you may assume, the books were stories about the experience of the wild. I can only remember two - Annapurna and Into the Wild. They might have been the only two I read, although I like to think at the ripe old age of 26 I had matured enough to read all six as per course requirements. Whatever.

The 3-week Colorado trip was to allow for the experience of what the stories from the books shared. Let’s be honest, there were two English professors at NIU, one had a lifetime friend who owned a base camp in the Tarryalls’, both professors passionate about the outdoors. They created the course - a paid adventure.

We took two backpack excursions, one for three sleeps, and the other for five. I had never slept in a tent. We even did a solo sleep sans tent. This wasn’t the first time I jumped in the deep end before learning how to swim. I still have the tendency. Rock climbing, and car camp trips, to explore some lesser popularized areas of Colorado were driven to and experienced. I bouldered, I climbed, I fly-fished (hated it). I mountain-biked. I even ended up in a care clinic to have the scree washed out of my left ass after I had endo’d on a mountain bike ride and, when landed on my feet, only had more adrenaline that proved to be too much, as I next hit a rock and lost control - tossed off the bike to slide down a portion of the path. The scree embedded up my left thigh into my butt cheek (had I been wearing spandex this would not have been an issue). I kind of felt cool - but not when it was scrubbed out - nor did I feel cool when the healing process was juicy and smelled, and would continue to rip open and bleed every time I got up out of the car on the road trip back to Illinois. The medic on duty in Woodland Park had held my leg down like a chicken wing, and scrubbed me out like the bottom of a baking dish that hadn’t soaked long enough. All this happened while I scream-laughed at a volume 15 (scale to 10) - the Bill Clinton impeachment trial taking place in the background… ‘I did not have sexual relations…’

I’m getting a little carried away in these stories that took place well over a decade ago - a decade? 26? um…over two decades… all because of this present time topic, love, and my love teacher - Michellie (Keeley). Keeley was not in existence yet. I wouldn’t move back to California the second time for another four years. The point of the summer mountain English class trip is to talk about ‘wild’. It was at a campfire conversation that I was exposed to new thinking: what does wild mean to you?

Keeley. Wild. Untamed.

Love.